Lass Small - The Texas Blue Norther

She asked, “Do you. bunk. here?” She should have thought out what she was going to say and how to say it less intrusively.

He replied, “It’s my place.”

His place. Yeah. Sure. However, if he was there, and stayed there and wasn’t thrown out, he might be able to buy it at a tax sale. She wondered who owned the land. Her dad would know. She’d ask.

She inquired, “Been here long?”

He looked at her seriously but with tolerance. He replied, “Long enough.”

“Does your phone work?”

He nodded, “In the kitchen.” And he moved his hand to indicate the way.

She looked around the entrance hall’s exits as she put the gourd-pod on a table. She asked, “Which way?”

“Sorry. I forget manners. Come thisaway.”

And he escorted her to the kitchen. There, they could hear the roar of the storm and from the windows they could see the snow blinding their view out and away.

She lifted the phone and with the storm, she was surprised there was the tone. She dialed direct with her card’s number and got the housekeeper, who asked, “Yeah?”

Such a jewel had flaws. The rest of her was superb. “Hi, Goldilocks, this is Lauren.”

“Yeah, Lorry?”

“I’m safe and sound. The storm’s going to delay my returning home. I’ll call back later when I know more.”

“Okay.” And Goldilocks was gone.

Now, why hadn’t she asked Lauren questions which could be succinctly, privately answered. Like: “Where are you?” “Are you there by choice?” Stuff like that?

The “I’m safe and sound” should have been a clue. Help these days was too tunneled. Goldilocks was a miracle of a cook. She went through the house with a finger over and along everything to see to it that the cleaning staff didn’t miss a thing. But she was no detective. She was too blatant to understand clues.

Goldilocks would tell Lauren’s mother that Lauren called and she was just fine.

No alarm would be sounded. After all, Lauren was now twenty-seven and an independent adult. After Kyle had had his wily way with her, she’d probably be dropped down an abandoned well.

She looked at her host. He looked too benign to drop anyone down a well. She asked, “Do you have any abandoned wells around here?”

He replied right away, “I’ll check it out.”

That made her skin goose bump so that her nipples peaked tightly.

He asked, “Are you any kind of a cook?”

And she replied using her Daughter of the Alamo reasoning, “I only taste.”

“Your mother’s not doing her part.”

“She makes up the—menus” She almost said they had help. He would then ask her father for more money to release her. She added, “We, the children, do the cooking.”

“So, you’re trained to cook?”

“No. I pour the pan milk and. deal out the oatmeal.”

He coughed.

She looked out at the snow.

The silence crackled and popped. She said, “The bluebonnets will freeze.”

“Are you cold?”

“The blanket—”

“I’ll put a fire in the…parlor?”

“Please.”

“Are you hungry?”

“It’s been a while since breakfast.”

“You eat lunch?”

“Don’t you?”

“I don’t always have the time. But when I eat, I eat.”

She nodded to agree his words made sense.

He bowed his head and rubbed his nose. He said earnestly, “I’ll build a fire in the parlor.”

“Thank you.” She asked, “Is the water in the sink drinkable?”

He gestured openly. “Gen-u-wine artesian, the real McCoy. Have some.”

He went and turned on the faucet and water gushed forth. Lauren had forgotten her parched mouth. She drank two glasses. She put the again-filled glass aside.

“You was thirsty.”

And she replied, “Obviously.”

He said it earnestly, “You can get any more anytime you want some.”

“Thank you.”

And he responded with great courtesy, “You are most welcome.”

It was then she realized he varied his speech. He might not be a hayseed after all. That only proved he was tricky.

She considered him. How come he was talking thataway? What was his purpose to pose as something other than what he was? He was a coyote.

The animal coyotes are clever and sly. They are amused by their tricks. There are humans who are called coyotes. Like those who smuggle people over into the States from Mexico and charge outrageous prices to guide them. And those intruders who get lost, get lost. And they die in the unpeopled areas from the heat and from not finding water.

Kyle asked, “So you don’t cook at all?”

“Oatmeal.”

“Then when you get hot, come in the kitchen and I’ll get you dinner.”

She responded, “Excellent. I’m quite hungry.”

“This’ll be a ball and a banquet.” He almost smiled.

“I’ll look forward to it.”

And he left the room.

She shed the blanket and went looking for the lavatory. She found one and it was pristine.

Kyle was probably a cattleman but who had cleaned the lavatory? He didn’t look the type to care.

She washed her hands before she left that room and got back by the fire before she heard Kyle whistling in the kitchen.

Her daddy whistled. It was such a cheerful sound. Her daddy had told her all cattlemen whistled or sang. It was for the beeves.

Kyle wasn’t with cattle, he was in the kitchen fixing her supper. She could set the table. The house was really quite comfortable. There must be a means for heating it.

Lauren found the kitchen and looked at it with untried eyes. She saw that it wasn’t like the one at home that was ruled by Goldilocks.

She asked the man by the stove, “May I help?”

He turned and looked at her.

Something happened in her stomach and to her breathing. He was absolutely glorious! Or maybe it was the mouth-watering smell of cooking onions? Something was wobbling her.

He looked’at her without the blanket. She wore the soft silk, sand-colored outfit of blouse and trousers. They were more for a drawing room than a kitchen. On her, they were something.

Maybe the something that was so eye-catching was the body inside the silks. With some resolve, he tore his eyes from her and said, “Yes.”

He had been agreeing that she was special.

She assumed he meant she could help. So she sought the right cupboards and brought the germane dishes and glasses to the table. But she put them aside. Then she dampened a towel and wiped down the table quite well.

After that, she set the silver precisely, then the plates and glasses. She found napkins. They were yellowed, but fairly clean. In the hall, she found a bouquet of dried flowers and leaves. It was intact, and it was glorious to put it on one side of the table.

He watched her as he cooked. She amazed him. She rattled him. And her body drove him tilted off center. Her mouth did, too. Her hands. Then she licked her lips!

He breathed…carefully.

She asked with courtesy, “What are we having?”

He looked at her a minute as if surprised she could get out a communicating sentence. He finally told her, “Beans. The onions in them are the vegetables. The chili peppers get rid of worms.”

She looked aside as she assimilated the last part. She looked at him again and inquired, “Worms? In the house?”

He tilted back his head as he bit his lower lip. His eyelashes almost closed over the humor, and he said, “The ones in your digesting tract.”

And she formed her lips thoughtfully as she responded, “Oh.”

He went on cheerily stirring the beans and dropping in the onions and peppers.

She noted the beans had come from a can. They would be perfectly all right. He was a sham. She would figure something to pay him back for his sly humor.